The Lie I Live
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: PreRENT. Mark muses about his crumbling relationship with Maureen. Unrequited MR, slight. Mark/Roger. Oneshot.


**A/N: Ooooooh I'm typing this duribng school… How naughty of me. Except it really isn't; I wrote this in creative writing as a two-page assignment where we drew a beginning sentence from an envelope and went from there. I ended up liking it so I thought I would share it with all of you! If you want me to expand on it drop me a review or a PM saying so and maybe I'll add to it…**

**Disclaimer: RENT is the sole property of Jonathan Larson. Whom I worship for that reason.**

Something brushed against me and my surprise turned to horror as I realized that Maureen had returned. She was early! I whipped around, spluttering out some half-assed explanation for what I was doing, but she was oblivious to the notebook lying open in my lap, my heart spilled on the pages. Her full lips were drawn into a pout, fingers lightly tugging at my sleeve.

"Pookie, take me out tonight? Clubbing?" she flashed a smile. I was taken aback; for months now, Mo and I had been drifting. I knew that she was cheating on me with any male with breath in his body, and she knew, I was sure, that I could hardly bring myself to care. It wasn't what she knew that scared me, though- it was what she didn't know.

"C-clubbing?" I stuttered, looking down at myself doubtfully. A sweater and corduroy pants were hardly proper club attire, and my thick black-framed glasses only served to prove my point. I was a tech nerd. A filmmaker. I didn't go to clubs. Maureen knew this. But… Well, we hadn't gone out for weeks and the last time hardly counted, what with the way she had been fliritng with the waiter the entire time. "Well… I guess, but-"

"Great! I'll go get dressed!" Her luscious, dark hair bounced behind her as she skipped merrily off to my room to sift through the stock of clothes she kept in my closet. I watched her go bemusedly. Whatever had gotten into her, at least she was happy.

In the back of my mind I knew that this was wrong, WE were wrong, and staying together was only making things worse for us both later in the game. Inevitably she would find someone that could really love her the way I didn't, couldn't; or who was better in bed; or even who bored her maybe a little less. And she'd run off with them with a hasty goodbye, leaving me alone with Roger and the dark, silent, lonely loft because Roger was never home anymore. He was out with April, out with his band, shooting up in an alley where he thinks I won't know. She'd leave me with all of that to deal with and no one to rely on.

But this was what we had, and it was convenient. Nobody would suspect me if I was dating this gorgeous, wild girl. They wouldn't have a reason to. No one would worry about my mental well-being, my happiness, for as long as I had someone to wrap my arms around at night.

I hate it when Roger worries about me. Sober or not, he always finds time to worry about me, and I hate it. Without Maureen I'm afraid that's all he'll ever do.

Sighing, I snapped my notebook shut, concealing the secrets and scraps of half-finished stories and sketches once more. I packed it away in my satchel just in time to witness Maureen's return. Her lips were deep red now, her hair shinier, and she had changed into something a little sluttier.

"Come on!" she exclaimed, eyes wide and brown and lit up like I hadn't seen in so long. Smiling a little, I allowed myself to be dragged out the door.

For now, for this night, I would just relax. I read somewhere that worrying too much can cause cancer. If I had cancer Roger would worry, and we wouldn't want that.

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

I should have known. It was stupid of me, not predicting this.

There was no rush for me to return to bed now, not when Maureen was curled up under the covers with her head hangign over the side, moaning and nauseous and ready to vomit into the bucket I'd placed on the floor beside the bed. I had no desire to lay with her now. Not that I had for the past couple of weeks at least, really, but now…

"It's your own fault for letting her drink so much." The voice, drifting to my ears from somewhere close behind me, was low and amused. I turned and gave Roger my most exasperated glare.

"I didn't buy them. The jerks at the bar did," I sighed. Here it was again, out in the open- our relationship crumbling before my very eyes.

"And you didn't punch them out?" He raised an eyebrow, tilting his bleached-blonde head curiously. I felt the accusation burning in his gaze, but his expression relaxed in sympathy when all I offered was a terse, slightly ashamed nod. "It's easy, you know," he said, grabbing my hand and turning it over in both of his, green eyes still trained in my blue ones. "See this?" He curled my fingers, wrapping my hand into a fist. "Use it to punch them. Like this."

Lightly tapping my fist to my own face, he chuckled and brushed past me on the way to his room. As soon as he was gone I slumped against the wall, staring at my hand, holding it up- open now- before me and watching it tremble. It still tingled from his touch. I closed my eyes, exhausted.

Sometimes I try to forget the hard truths. Like how Maureen and I aren't in love, and Roger and I aren't either. Like the fact that I was a college dropout, a failure in my parent's eyes. Like the heartsick laments I wrote in my journal every day.

It's just so hard to forget a lie you live every day.


End file.
